


by starlight

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Outdoor Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy is intercepted on her way home, and this time she won't get away with ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Written belatedly for Porn Battle XII. Prompt: leather.

The wood was beautiful at night. The tips of the pine needles were silvered, and Nancy could just feel the sharp bite of frost in the air. The moon was full and bright enough for her to make out her path, as the horse's hooves crunched through drifts of dead leaves and brittle grass.

But she wasn't really seeing any of it. Her hood was pulled up over her hair and she kept one hand at her throat to hold it there, the other on the reins. Impatiently she spurred the horse on. She had to get back, had to get home, and she had no time at all to waste.

She was already straining her ears, to pick up any hint that she was being followed, and so at the first echo of hooves she picked out the distinction. Another rider. Nancy leaned over the horse's neck and urged more speed, her heart racing. At this pace if the horse went off the path, if she was struck by a low branch, she would be out of commission for a good long while.

There was a way. If the rider knew of the path that circled around...

Nancy gulped in a cold breath that burned all the way down into her chest and scanned the trees around her. A flash of black, but maybe it was her imagination. She was already keyed up.

A small part of her almost wished to get caught, for her husband to be waiting up for her when she walked through the front door. A small part of her. The rest of her hoped that she would somehow be able to arrive undetected, that she would be sitting demurely over stitching or a quiet glass of wine and there would be no lecture, no argument. No need to defend herself or what she did, what she had to do.

Her lungs ached, her thighs ached from the saddle and her death-grip on the horse, and all she could smell was animal sweat and horseflesh and night. She could feel the cool in her eyes, against her cheek, against her wrists where her gloves ended.

They broke through to a clearing and they were close; home was over the next rise, all moonlit stone. A warm crackling fireplace awaited her.

The rider was in the clearing. Waiting for her.

She pulled the horse up short and they were both panting. She changed direction and the horse obeyed, and she saw the other rider set off in immediate pursuit.

"You're trespassing," he called, his voice like cold steel. "On my property. Give up."

"No," she called back, peering ahead of her. She was less familiar with the path she had chosen, and the horse was picking around tree roots, snorting in protest.

She almost outmaneuvered him, but in the next abbreviated clearing he was waiting for her, his horse's breath steaming in the cold. He swung himself down from the saddle and grabbed her horse's reins, and she directed the coldest glare she could muster at him as the moonlight revealed his face.

Ned.

She had not loved, had never loved before him.

They had met years before, back when her life was still determined, when her husband was already picked. She had thought, before that instant, that she was simply not meant for this, for the dizzying exuberance of a grand affair. She hadn't doubted that she would marry, maybe form some affection for the man who would come to share her bed, but that was all.

But Ned, oh, oh how she had loved him, oh how she had fought her father's demand that she marry the man he had selected for her, a man who would provide for her and care for her and give her a home and leave her heart cold.

And now she was married, to a man who loved her, who worshiped the ground she walked on.

Nancy looked down at Ned and felt that tenderness creep over her, flood over her, the same as it had since the first moment she had ever locked her gaze to his. That distant hearth was forgotten in the intensity of his gaze.

"Madam."

"Sir," she responded, as the horse sidestepped under her.

"You cannot be out this late, like this. You cannot be out here. I'm on the way back from a tour of my land, and some madman, I am sure you are unaware," his eyebrows said otherwise, "has been destroying and damaging property, mostly at night. If you were mistaken, in the wrong quarter, you would be killed without a thought."

"And yet," she replied, "here we are, both of us well. If you had not intercepted me I would be walking into my home even now."

Ned shook his head. "And the fact that I _did_ intercept you stands to show that you operate on the thinnest luck and chance, madam."

"It has served me so far," she said lightly.

Ned shook his head again, then began to work his glove off. "I believe I made it clear that the next time I caught you on my property at such a late hour that there would be consequences."

"Lest you forget my place," she said, in the icy, aristocratic tone that was the envy of all her friends, " _or_ your own, my husband would be very displeased if he were to find I had been molested on my way home tonight."

"And what kind of husband," Ned returned, his brown eyes burning as they met hers, "would allow his wife to be out at this hour."

"Let," she repeated. " _Let._ Maybe it is different in your marriage, but a wife _does_ have a voice, and the ability to make her own decisions."

"And when those decisions are so foolish, obviously that man must take a keener interest. You must be taken in hand, madam."

"And you have appointed yourself to be that man."

Ned looked around. "I don't see any other candidates," he said. "Down. Now."

"And if I refuse?"

Ned raised his eyebrows again. "Then the next time, and I believe we both know that there will be a next time, will be all the worse for you, madam. Down." He offered her his hand, and waited.

She gave him another moment of the benefit of her hardest glare, but he remained imperturbable. He wore a leather greatcoat, molded to his well-muscled arms, belted at his waist, and for the first time she let herself shiver under her heavy cloak. The sweat of her exertions had begun to cool against her skin, and the shiver only intensified when she took Ned's bare hand in her gloved fingers, letting him help her down from her mount.

He stood a full head taller than her, in sturdy boots. He smelled of leather and earth and, faintly, the musk of his sweat; his jaw was lined in a day's worth of stubble. She winced a little at her complaining muscles, then threw her head back to gaze up at him, her hood falling down to reveal the red-gold spill of her long hair.

"Sir," she said.

He was standing oh so close; were they in society, in true public, their proximity would be scandalous, unmistakably so. Despite her defiance, the slow measuring of his gaze sent a warmth flooding over her, under her shift. It was damnably inconvenient, entirely out of her control, and wonderfully intoxicating. She _desired_ him, even here.

He left her standing, gazing at him, as he led their horses to a low branch, securing them. So this was to be no brief interlude. She flexed her fingers in her gloves; she had been riding so briskly that she could still imagine the barest vibration in the ground beneath her.

Then Ned grasped her hand and led her back into the woods, into the deeper shadows. She had to lengthen her strides to keep up with him. Surely he would not keep her long, knowing who was waiting for her back home.

Even so, her heart was already speeding in anticipation.

He stopped before a tall tree, its wide trunk providing a broad support, and swung her to its foot, her back against the bark. Then he stepped in close to her and before she had time to even breathe his name, he had his mouth crushed to hers.

With a sigh she returned it, her tongue in his mouth, his body trapping her in the deep shadow beneath the branches. Her hands came up and her gloves skated over the leather of his coat as Ned slipped his hands under her cloak, cupping her slender waist through her dress. With a soft noise of frustration Nancy tugged her gloves off and put them in her pockets, then slid her fingers into his hair, quivering under his touch.

When they parted she met his gaze, her eyes wide. "Someone could see us."

His lips twitched up in a half-smile. "Oh, so _now_ you admit we are not so solitary as you might wish."

"We're alone in the woods with some night-roaming madman and all you can think of is—"

"Is what," he returned, and leaned down, kissing the point of her jaw, the soft flesh beneath. "Is what, Nancy," he murmured slowly, and she closed her eyes at the delight of hearing her name so familiar on his lips. He loosened the tie of her cloak and kissed her collarbone, and she groaned in frustration. She wanted to rip it all off, every scrap of fabric between them, but the night was too cold. Even so, her breasts, her sex ached for his touch.

With swift, numbing fingers she unlaced her bodice and Ned pushed the neck of her shift down, and she shivered when he bared her breasts to the cold night air. Then he boosted her to give himself better access and suckled against her nipple as she covered her other breast with her hand. She threaded her other fingers through his hair, letting out little gasps of pleasure as he swept his tongue across the tight sensitive nub of flesh, and then he nuzzled her hand aside and she covered her other breast as he lavished his tongue over the other, ending with a slow, gentle bite that had her hips bucking against him.

When he let her back down so her boots rested on the ground, she reached for the laces of his breeches. He wore rough fabric that felt like canvas, and she swiftly unlaced him, parting the fabric. She could hear his breathing and then he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and she squirmed, reaching into his pants.

Oh, oh yes, he was ready for her.

He cupped her breasts, her nipples hard against his palms, then grasped her skirts and began to pull them up. When she shivered he leaned closer, sliding one knee between her legs to hold her heavy skirts up as he opened his coat, drawing her into the circle of his warmth. She helped him push up the yards of fabric and underskirts, until she was bare to the waist, and then their gazes met, low-lidded and heavy with desire.

He had to boost her a little, to put their hips even. He pinned her against the tree, and she tightened her thighs about his hips, and it seemed impossible but the chill made her breasts feel ever more sensitive. She felt the firm heat of his manhood pressed against his belly, along the slit of her sex, as their mouths met in quick teasing kisses, and she strained against him as he cupped her ass, fitting her more snugly against him.

She was terribly wanton with him, and this secret, this desire, was theirs alone. In public, at home, she was the deferential, decorous wife, quick and mannered and serenity itself. Here, with him, ever since their first time, she was wild and passionate and begging, and there was nothing composed about the way she used the tree behind her for leverage so she could rub her hips against his, in anticipation of their joining. The length of his manhood sliding against her slick inner lips made her groan in pleasure.

"Love," he gasped out, his hips bearing between her thighs. "Nancy."

"Ned," she replied, and sobbed out a cry as he squirmed his hand between them. He slipped a knee up to support her weight as he moved back a little and cautiously touched the slickly-wet, hot flesh between her legs, and when he pressed a finger up into her tender sex she swiftly drew his face to hers, releasing her delighted moan into his mouth as he found her wet and ready for him.

He shifted and she felt the hot head of his manhood at her entrance, and then he cupped her ass again, holding her in place as he pressed deep into her in one steady swift thrust. His body sheltered hers, and the warmth of his leather coat fluttered around them as she shuddered and swooned, as he filled her and retreated, slowly, then a little faster, then a little faster. His breath was warm against her neck and her nipples were tight as his shirt brushed over her bare flesh, and she kissed his neck, her fingers seeking the warmth of his bare flesh.

She wanted him naked, between warm sheets, his dark eyes dancing in firelight.

But this, oh, the adrenaline, the chill, being pinned helpless between his hips and the tree as he moved within her, the soft glint of moonlight, was almost better. Were anyone to come across them now no one would believe that she was a landed lady and he a gentleman, not with her red-gold hair loose and tumbling between them, not with her breasts bare and bouncing with his every thrust.

He began to groan with the effort of holding back his release, as she kissed his adam's apple, the stubble burning against her lips, marking her. Her hips slipped a little and she tightened around him, whimpering as their angle changed and he brushed against some bit of sensitive flesh between her legs, and she surged against him, matching his thrusts with the rock of her hips. He pushed brutally hard between her thighs and pinned her there and grasped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his cool fingers, and she jerked and groaned against him, pulling at him in speechless pleading.

Then he shivered and she felt him pulsing inside her, until he was spent and she was gasping, her hips circling against the press of his. He tilted his head and kissed her, hard, and they were as close as a man and woman could be, and he felt perfect, _perfect_ inside her, like her sex had been made perfectly to enfold his.

Then he reached into an inner pocket and slowly parted from her, leaving her still sensitive, wobbling on her feet. He offered her the handkerchief he produced and she dabbed at her thighs, then handed it back to him, watching him swiftly clean himself before he laced back up. She tugged the shift back over her cold breasts, her nipples still hard and achingly sensitive against the cheap fabric, and began to lace her bodice back up. The void between her legs still throbbed with a warm, flushed sensitivity.

He was offering his hand. "I must put myself back to rights," she told him, moving as quickly as she could. She tied the cloak at her throat and pulled it back over her hair. "Or would you have my husband suspect."

"It would probably do him good to see you like that," he muttered. "Or maybe not, because you never look so good as you do when you have been throughly tumbled."

"Oh, don't I," she said, trying not to let on how much she needed his guiding hand as they made their way back to the clearing.

"Will you be able to remount?"

She shot a quick glance at him. His eyes were dancing. "You overestimate yourself, sir," she said archly. "I am not so easily tired out."

"I consider that a challenge."

They rode together, although she went more slowly, waiting for the telltale flush to leave her cheeks, for her heart to slow. Every time the saddle jostled under her she felt her sex clench in instinctive answer. As she approached the front gate he waved to her in farewell, and she paused there, her gaze following until he vanished over the rise.

Nancy stepped into the great hall and closed her eyes in pleasure at the warmth of the crackling hearth, unfastening her cloak and letting it slide down her shoulders. Every nerve of her entire body was still sensitive from their lovemaking, but she had to calm down. She felt Mary take her cloak and turned to see the servant shaking it off. A few bits of bark and straw were stuck to the back. Nancy's cheek flushed, and she turned back to the fire to disguise it.

"Is the master here?"

"He's come and gone," Mary said, tremulously.

"I'm surprised you're still awake."

"I could not go to bed with both of you gone, ma'am."

Nancy nodded. "Well, I'm here now, so off to bed with you."

Mary smiled in thanks. "Do you need anything first?"

"Some hot spiced wine wouldn't be unwelcome."

On the way up to her bedchamber Nancy went by the nursery. Her husband doted on their son and daughter; she did too, remembering with faint incredulity how she had never been able to imagine herself a mother. Their daughter would be a remarkable beauty, and their son would inherit his father's title, and would be sure to break his fair share of hearts in the season.

Doubtless her husband would be home soon.

She took a wet cloth and wiped her thighs again before laying out her dress, and wrapped a thick dressing gown around her before taking up her brush. When Mary came in with the wine she helped Nancy brush out her long hair, then took the discarded dress as she wished her mistress a good night.

Her husband had the strength to withstand many trials, but he very rarely could master himself at the sight of her in candlelight, her hair loose and warm over her shoulders. That was, if he were to visit her chambers tonight. Nancy crossed to the tray and poured herself half a glass of wine, and stood with it poised at her lips when she heard a faint knock at the door, immediately followed by the turn of the knob.

Her husband.

She let her gaze rise casually to his face, slowly lowering the wineglass.

"Good evening."

"Good evening," she replied, and finished the glass, feeling it pool warm in her belly. "How was your day?"

"Utterly, throughly ordinary," he confessed, closing the door behind him. "I expected to be home sooner. The tour took longer than I thought."

She nodded, watching him take off his jacket, open his shirt. He had his own room, his own valet, and she had not so much as one of his sleeping-shirts in her chamber.

"And you, my dear, look entirely too pleased to have spent a quiet night at home."

Nancy met his gaze. "I went for a ride," she confessed, with a small smile. "I'm sure I'm quite terribly windblown."

"Doubtless," Ned murmured, sitting at the foot of his bed to pull off his boots. "And I'm sure you haven't the strength for another."

"Another quiet night?"

"Another ride," Ned corrected her, his eyes dancing in the firelight.

"Why, my dear, you seem to be taking _off_ your riding clothes."

"While you seem to already be in your own," he teased her, and stood in just his breeches. His broad, muscular chest was shown to distinct advantage in the firelight, she decided. "Save for one adjustment, that is."

He reached for her and a moment later she stood naked before him, her chin up, proud at the obvious desire in his eyes.

Her marriage was the only issue she had fought her father's judgement over, and the only argument she had really cared to win. He had been so permissive in other areas, but in terms of love, he had been startled by the strength of her passion for the man who stood before her. In all the years of their marriage she had never regretted her decision.

He reached for her and she let him lift her into his arms and carry her to her bed. "Surely you aren't tired, are you, love," he said softly, gazing down at her.

She reached up for him, kissing him hard, his tongue sweeping across hers. When he raised his head her lips twisted up in a small grin.

"Try me."


End file.
